


Acuto Sibi Pondera Silice

by ouro_boros



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Accidental Coming Out, Asexual Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Blanket Permission, Gaslighting, Gay Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Podfic Available, Queer Reginald Jeeves, Trans Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Trans Male Character, also just implied. but we all know, that ones just implied. but he is, trans author, very light! and just against strangers and aunt agatha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23728909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouro_boros/pseuds/ouro_boros
Summary: Bertie knows he's not great at secret-keeping, especially not from Jeeves. But sometimes he can surprise himself.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves & Bertram "Bertie" Wooster, Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Comments: 20
Kudos: 84





	Acuto Sibi Pondera Silice

**Author's Note:**

> The title is an (extremely short but it's the intention that counts) phrase from Catullus' 63rd poem, which features a character who may or may not be a trans woman. You know how that scholarly debate goes. The only other classical trans character I know (excluding Teiresias, who was turned into a woman by some snakes who were having sex, had a great seven years, then interrupted the snakes again and turned back into a man) is Iphis, but I lost the pdf I had of Iphis' story and I have my Catullus anthology right here, so...
> 
> Anyway, I couldn't find an appropriate tag, but WARNING: in this universe, Bertie usually wears a binder (or something that serves the same purpose). This fic starts with Jeeves walking in on Bertie fully clothed, but without the binder. Also, Bertie does at one point refer to his "breasts."

It was mid-afternoon on a spiffingly pleasant day. In a fit of horrible timing, I was beginning the walk from piano to chesterfield—an area like an opening in the middle of a forest for all the cover it provided—when I heard a key being cleanly inserted into its hole at the door. I held back a manly shriek, looked left and right, decided I might as well continue down my path, and dove behind the chesterfield just as the door oozed open.

“Sir?” Jeeves politely requested, having just caught sight of the young master flinging himself to the floor.

“No worries, Jeeves!” I called out, raising my face from the rug for which I was feeling rather grateful. “Feel free to exit the room or some such activity!”

I sense the hypothetical reader’s confusion. Hypothetical, as I hardly intend for anyone to read the preceding or following narrative. No, this document exists purely for self’s stress relief. But in case a future Bertie is perusing his younger counterpart’s scribblings and finding his memory lacking, allow me to go back a tick. 

Now, my reluctance for the paragon of valets to see me had nothing to do with distaste for the wondrous cove—I assure you, there was none. I adore the man from the cockles-est depths of my heart. My desperate dive was solely related to my attire, or lack thereof. Oh, I had adorned an exquisite outfit that I’m sure Jeeves would have heartily approved of if the man did anything heartily, but I was distressingly lacking in the undergarments department.

I feel as though I’m not reaching my point. Allow me to speak as plainly as I can stand: there are few things I hide about myself. I love to be and often am considered an open book. Not one of those dense texts coated in metaphor and symbolism either; no, the novel _de_ Wooster is easily legible for those aged eight and up. However, I would prefer no one to be aware of my breasts. In pursuit of this ideal, I at almost all times wear something to conceal them. It wouldn’t be good for my physical health to _actually_ wear it at all times, and as Jeeves was on vacation and his replacement had left a day early at my request, I thought it would do to give my oft abused rib-cage a rest.

You might now understand my reluctance for Jeeves to see my unrestrained state. I know it is unlikely that my troubles had gone unnoticed by Jeeves’ fish-fed brain, but as I always say, it’s better to keep a spilled secret than spill a kept one. Besides, there’s something dreadfully distasteful about the idea of a gentleman’s gentleman seeing his gentleman looking rather… ungentlemanly. I mean to say, what?

Jeeves, marvel that he is, ignored my invitation for retreat entirely. He walked around my hiding spot of choice to see the y.m. belly down on the floor. This I deduced from sound alone, as I refused to raise my head.

“Sir,” Jeeves repeated with an extra dose of urgency, “has something occurred to cause this?”

“No no, old fruit. I assure you, I am perfectly splendid. Please do not trouble yourself.”

Well it’s the dashest thing, but he must have detected the admittedly heavy note of panic in my voice, because instead of taking me at my word, the man turned me over and propped me up against the back of the sofa! I put up a fight of course, but he is a strong fellow when it comes down to it. My flailing only accelerated the situation’s already speedy slide into the soup; it seemed to convince him I was in some way injured, as he began an efficient scan over the Wooster corpus.

“Jeeves,” I pled, thinking to warn him off or perhaps threaten his livelihood—

But it was too late. He’d spotted something strange on self’s chest, froze, then flicked his too-observant gaze to a middle distance adjacent to my head.

We each sat in shocked silence, trying not to think of how this would affect our household. At least, that’s what I was not-thinking. Jeeves’ thoughts were as inscrutable then as the man himself.

He cleared his throat, but when I answered with my customary “Yes, Jeeves?” he had no rejoinder. I saw that it would be my responsibility to begin the necessary conversation.

“You know,” I said with a forced chuckle which failed to lighten the mood, “you’re the first person I’ve had to tell about this since my parents. Of course, they found out the other way around, but…”

He didn’t have a response for this either. He merely stood, offered me a hand up with his eyes still averted, and guided me to the proper side of the chesterfield.

“Do sit, Jeeves,” I requested. “This is an odd thing to confess with the confess-ee standing.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he obeyed, sitting stiffly in a chair across from me. I tried to strike my everyday casual posture, but I failed miserably, too disquieted by the scenario. I grabbed a pillow and held it against my torso. Jeeves watched the movement carefully, which made me tighten my grip.

“Let's see now, where to start! I wouldn't want to shove you into the middle, though I'm not sure where that would be either… All right, I'll introduce us with this: the Wooster parents were rather more intelligent than the Wooster son.” 

Jeeves listened intently despite keeping his eyes far to my left. 

“It didn’t take me too long to realize once I understood what was meant by ‘go play with the other girls,’ and when I did, I sped off to go complain to my keepers. Not that I didn’t like the girls, mind. Girls are great fun—I was certain I’d fallen in love with one or two of them when I was… you know, in between epiphanies. If ‘epiphanies’ is the word I want.”

I paused just long enough for Jeeves to nod, either signalling approval of “epiphanies” or understanding of the specific epiphany to which I was alluding. Oh Lord, I’ve used the word so many times now, I can only pray it’s the right one. Anyway, as apparently successful as one secret was kept, another was out of the bag nearly the instant a younger Bertram bid a younger Jeeves enter and stay. There was a third that had never had the occasion to be mentioned, and at the time—that is, the time this story takes place, not the time “a younger Bertram” and all that rot, as younger Bertram had yet to actually unravel this particular secret—ah. What was I saying? Oh yes, at the time of this tale, I didn’t expect the third of these secrets/revelations (I think I’ve sworn off the term “epiphanies”) to arise. And it didn’t. That was another tale altogether.

“My parents didn’t know what I meant, and once they did, they still weren’t quite sure if I was right in the head. Luckily for me, they decided to put their eggs in the Bertram basket so to speak. At first it was just in-house, you know. Everyone agreed to play along with the young master until it was decided whether he was simply loony. 

“Well, it was a little taste of heaven, Jeeves, and I wanted more! I became a bit of a recluse. I missed my friends and all, but a little socializing was nothing compared to the relief of being seen—or at least referred to—as appropriately masculine. I think that’s what convinced my parents, ultimately. So they thought up a plan. Rather a good one too, almost on your level, Jeeves!” 

The compliment had no effect that I could see, and if there’s one thing I'm good at seeing, it’s Jeeves’ affect. Assuming “affect” is the term I’m groping for.

I cleared my throat.

“My, ah—my parents decided to take a risk. They simply began pretending they’d always had a boy. Distant acquaintances wouldn’t take the chance of looking like they’d forgotten something as simple as self’s sex, and if they did, it could just be laughed off.

“Of course, the main obstacle came in the auntly form. They knew Aunt Agatha would never stand for my sort of nonsense, and that she knew me a bit too well to fall for an identical trick. Aunt Dahlia, on the other hand, was a great deal more tolerant of nonsense, even encouraging on certain occasions. If brought in on a secret, she’s a good deal more likely to fight hell or high water to keep it, especially from her sister. So she was asked to visit, and informed in hushed voices why she might hear about the Wooster son. 

“Well, as it turned out, she’d known one or two people who’d vanished and reappeared with notable differences. Once fully caught up, she offered to assist in the extension of the trick to Aunt Agatha. Things tend to sound more convincing disapprovingly whispered into one’s ear by one’s competitor in sisterhood while at a table of people looking at you a bit oddly. 

“Aunt Dahlia was tremendously helpful. Giving advice and such. And after my parents… well, you know, she was my central lifeline. I suppose she had more experience in the topic than any of us were expecting. I wasn’t actually present for the initial conference, just brought up to speed after the fact. It’s also apt to come up if certain aged r.s require certain blot-like nephews for the latest undesirable job.

“And… Well… ‘Against all odds’ and all that,” I finished with a chuckle.

Jeeves’ gaze remained solidly to my left. He held that same passive expression, and it was really beginning to bother me that I couldn’t divine any more from it than discomfort. Dash it, I’d spent years learning Jeeves’ face, and all that knowledge abandons me now? In my moment of need? Bally typical!

With no response forthcoming from my man, I cleared my throat and added, rather more uncertain than I’d been just a moment ago, “You know, Jeeves, I understand if you’d like to leave. You are a gentleman’s gentleman after all, and I am perhaps less of a gentleman than other gentlemen might guess at first glance. Don’t get me wrong, I’d never _want_ you to leave, but if that’s what need be… I mean to say, I do trust you. Not to tell anyone, I mean.”

Finally—finally! what a relief!—Jeeves met my gaze. He looked unsettled, I’m pleased to say. That is, his unsettled-ness wasn’t what pleased me, but the fact that I could see he was unsettled. It was a mixture of the brow and mouth, this particular expression.

“Sir,” Jeeves began, and at least three knots that had been tying themselves up in my chest let loose, “I do not wish to resign. I would only resign if you requested it.”

And there went a dozen more knots.

“Ah, that’s good to hear, Jeeves. Splendid news. Then, if I may ask, what was all that blank staring-to-my-left bilge?”

“My apologies, sir, I had not intended my silence to be interpreted as you did. I was merely wondering if you were familiar with the Institut für Sexualwissenschaft.”

“The what for what?”

“It is a German research institute, sir. Its name can be translated as the Institute for Sexual Science. I have visited only briefly, sir, to make use of their library.”

“I see. Er. Why do you bring it up?”

“The Institute,” Jeeves began, his voice making the name sound very important (it’s among my least favorite of his tricks, most of all when he applies it to the name “Bertram Wooster”—it never does seem to turn out well for poor old Bertram), “offers counseling and medical intervention for those in sensitive positions like your own. I believe their services could be immensely helpful to you, sir.”

Although a great many internal knots had come undone under Jeeves’ metaphorical fingers, just as deft as the literal ones, his answer had done little to loosen the largest. In fact, I dare say he’d tightened it.

“Ah, Jeeves, when you say ‘helpful,’ you wouldn’t mean ‘helpful’ in the manner that Sir Roderick Glossop might consider himself in relation to certain men-cum-canaries?”

“Oh, _no_ , sir.”

The man looked stricken! His expression was similar to how I imagine he would react upon realizing he had laid out a polka dot tie for me while suffering from a fit of some kind. As you can guess, future-Bertie, it was not an expression I had seen before, and I would be hard-pressed to claim it suited him. I scolded the still present knot for insisting on such ridiculous conclusions.

“‘No,’ Jeeves?”

“ _No,_ sir. The Institute was founded by those sympathetic and similar to yourself.”

“Ah. Well that’s a relief, though I admit it leaves me at a loss as to what might be involved in that counseling and medical whatsit you mentioned.”

“You have often found it helpful in the past to explain your thoughts to an impartial ear, so as to better notice traps of logic, have you not?”

I hadn’t. Not in so many words, at least. But it sounded familiar.

“I have, though that ear is usually yours, and I would hardly call it impartial.”

Ignoring the latter parts of my statement, Jeeves inclined his head a centimeter in a sort of Jeevesian nod and said, “That process, sir, is not dissimilar to the kind of counseling provided. As for the medicinal element, there has been significant research into the effects of certain hormones when introduced to a body. I am not an expert on the subject—”

I snorted. Jeeves’ version of non-expertise, I’ve found, is extremely like my version of complete mastery.

“—but to my understanding, when taken regularly, they can induce a second puberty.”

I resisted the urge to interrogate as to why on Earth I should want to suffer through _that_ again, hoping the second, less nonsensical meaning (or more sensical, I suppose) would become apparent. I don’t think Jeeves noticed.

With the gift of hindsight and later conversations with Jeeves, now might be a good time to shed light on the slightly strange pace this first conversation—first on this subject, that is—was going. See, this whole incident had knocked us both terribly off-guard. I’ve already explained my reasons, but Jeeves… Well. The main issue came with his being Jeeves. The man sees _everything;_ he’s damn near omnipotent. Omniscient? Let’s call it both.

Point being, I had just revealed a secret which had played a large role in making me who I am. As knowledgeable as he is in the realm of the psychology of the individual, it was a shock to the poor man’s system to learn he’d missed something so fundamental about the young master. Thus, while I was missing his meanings about as often as I usually did, Jeeves was finding it uncharacteristically difficult to guard against such eventualities.

Luckily, his next statement went a ways in explaining the previous.

“You would eventually develop a deeper voice, more body hair, and other traits in the same vein. Such a treatment may produce an effect difficult to explain to those who know you, and it would require frequent trips to Germany, but if it might make you more comfortable, sir, those obstacles could be overcome.”

I admit, I was left slack-jawed. That stubborn knot had come completely undone, sheepish for doubting our paragon of a valet, and it was replaced by a tension entirely more pleasant. Excitement, I dare call it.

“Jeeves. Do you mean I could—”

Words failed me, but Jeeves nodded. He was providing me with a ladder from a lifelong soup, which was much steadier and more familiar ground for the chap.

“If you are interested…”

I nodded hard enough to make my head fall off.

“I’ll arrange a consultation, sir.”

“Thank you, Jeeves,” I sighed.

“I endeavour to give satisfaction, sir.”

I kneaded the pillow still tight against my chest.

“Ah. Would you terribly mind leaving the room while I go...”

I gestured to the pillow. Jeeves stood instantly with a, “Not at all, sir,” and went to leave.

“And, Jeeves?”

He turned back towards me.

“Thank you.”

“I believe, sir, that you have already—”

“For believing me, I mean. That I am actually, you know, and not just unstable, or pretending, or. That is to say…” 

I made careful eye contact with him then, which he unflinchingly reciprocated. 

“I am very lucky to have you, Jeeves.”

Within what seemed to be a second, he answered, “And I you, Mr. Wooster,” and exited.

**Author's Note:**

> In the nebulous timeline that makes up the Jeeves stories, this takes place about a year before the one where Bertie grows a horrendous mustache. Jeeves lets him revel in it about a half hour longer. But it truly is horrendous.
> 
> If Wodehouse can keep Jeeves in a time bubble, then I can extend that bubble to Germany. I accidentally did a lot of research into the Institute of Sexual Science/Science of Sexuality/Sexology, so this kind of turned into a commercial halfway through, and I am very sorry about that. I blame it on Jeeves. If he doesn't know what to say, he just spurts facts.
> 
> Important to note: the Institute's library had a lot of academic literature. I'm also told it had a good bit of erotica. I'll let you decide which Jeeves was there for.
> 
> [You can find me at oury-boros on Tumblr!](https://oury-boros.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Acuto Sibi Pondera Silice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26158603) by [MycroftRH-Reads (MycroftRH)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MycroftRH/pseuds/MycroftRH-Reads)




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